The ink bled into the parchment as Delia's hand froze at the man's words. Kill a few hatchlings? Jonah had torn through the fully grown Sirens like they were made of paper! She would have bitten back at the man's assertion, but the casual humour in his voice showed no signs of derision or mockery. It was the truth.

The man, Khaleel, could tell Jonah was the most capable fighter amongst them, despite his smaller appearance compared to Jeremy or Karl. They hadn't seen Jonah fight since Khaleel was surprised the crew even met the Sirens, so how did he know?

In spite of his attractive feature, Jonah was but an ordinary man: Creamy skin, unruly, jet-black hair styled messily, as if woken from a nap, and angular facial features softened by the slight smile that played on his lips.

Delia looked away as she realised Jonah was smiling at her, having noticed her staring at him. Of course, he did. That was the most unordinary thing about him, his senses, not his appearance.

She turned her attention back to the quill and parchment in hand, wondering what to write. There was a way of knowing who was stronger; no, that wasn’t right — there was a way of knowing who could fight. Delia didn’t miss the implication of Khaleel’s words. He had implied he and his two crew members would win in a fight.

The pit in her stomach grew and once again the tides in her mind threatened to drown her. Delia knew Jonah wasn't the strongest person out there, and yet the concept of him and strength were synonymous to her. She had never seen him lose a fight, not even against a Kraken, but for whatever reason, she didn’t doubt Khaleel.

The man’s casual pose and relaxed demeanour lent an assured self-confidence to it. Khaleel was so confident of his own strength, of Jonah's inability to compete, he had likened Jonah to a hatchling. The most capable person she knew was a hatchling…

"I see," Jeremy said, breaking the tense silence. "I'm not very familiar with Sirens, they're not… something we find around our waters."

"Well, you men certainly have quick wits dealing with them. Smart to use scents to keep your sanity, and to block your ears. Also explains why you don't carry noise-cancelling headphones with you, I suppose."

Shuddering away the unease, Delia scribbled down the unfamiliar term. She assumed the ‘headphones’ was the artifact that the men wore. A noise-cancelling device, used for communication and to block out other people’s voices. It was an interesting tool.

Her eyes glanced over Khaleel’s headphones laying on the table, but she couldn't discern any visible scripts or glyphs. She would need to get a close look at some point.

"That's right," Jeremy said. "Say, how would these eldest Sirens compare to," Jeremy paused and placed a hand to his chin, "a kraken," he finished. He nodded to himself. "Yes, how would a Siren compare to a Kraken?"

Delia’s hand stilled, and her focus turned to Khaleel. She pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide any emotion, and slowly and silently, gulped to moisten her throat.

"Hmmm, well. Sirens start Red and go up to Blue. Krakens, if I'm not mistaken, start at Yellow, and go up to Blue?"

Jeremy nodded at the answer, pretending to understand.

"Hmm. Well, if I had to put my coppers on it, I'd say an equivalent-ranked Kraken would beat an equivalent-ranked Siren. Well, it’d be true at Yellow and Green. Things start going odd at Blue. That said, a Green Siren would probably be harder to kill for a human."

"I see," Jeremy said, as though he understood anything.

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Delia wrote ‘Kraken stronger than a siren, but easier to fight against’, whilst mentally noting the colours and ranks in her head. She would need to write it down after the men had left, to not give away how very little they knew.

The mention of colours brought her attention back to what Khaleel had said earlier. He called himself ‘Yellow’. Yellow ranked, she assumed. Was Jonah then a Red rank? What rank was she? How could someone even tell?

"Any more questions?" Khaleel asked. "Or is it my turn now?"

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have one or two more, but fire away.”

“Excellent.” Khaleel then picked up the headphone and place it on his head, but instead of wearing it like Sajid and Adnan, Khaleel wore the circular cup over one ear and left the other exposed. To hear his men, and us, she figured.

“Right, first question. Where are you men from?” Khaleel asked.

“From the city of Sia,” Jeremy answered.

Khaleel repeated the second mate's answer back into the little hand that extended from the headphone, informing his two companions, whose faces furrowed.

“Which kingdom is that?” Adnan said.

“We’re not from a Kingdom. It’s the country of Askern.”

Again, there was a little pause as the men tried to match the name to a location. It was a futile attempt. Delia had already long figured they were far from home.

“I’m not familiar with it,” Khaleel said. He turned to his two companions, who shook their heads. "How far is this country from where we are?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. We’ve taken a… tangent to this place,” he said. Delia could tell he was proud of that sentence, she could tell from the way his eyes shined.

“Could you not estimate?”

“It’s our first time here, so it’d be difficult to… ascertain.”

She cringed at the response. That last sentence felt so forced, he was practically undoing the image he was trying to create.

“Hmmm. Fine, I guess we should start from the basics then. What are all of your names?”

Jeremy introduced each member of the crew, who in turn nodded when called upon.

“You are all from different houses?” Khaleel asked.

“The ship is our house.”

“Huh, how very interesting. And you are the head of the house then, not —” he glanced towards Jonah, “—our friend over here?”

“If you mean if I’m the captain, then no. The captain is currently… occupied.”

Khaleel raised a brow. “Too busy to greet his guests?” His voice sounded like flint, cold and sharp. “In our culture, this is seen as the height of disrespect, you know.”

The joviality in the man's voice vanished, and his posture turned rigid. He crossed his arms and his eyes narrowed at the group.

Delia felt a twinge of anxiety. She shifted nervously on her feet and looked towards Jonah.

Jonah, despite not having heard the conversation, had placed his hand by his sword. In less than a few seconds, the atmosphere in the room had changed, the tension in the air thick and palpable.

“He’ll be joining us shortly,” Jeremy said, trying to diffuse the situation. “He sent us to be an advanced greeting party.”

Khaleel's eyes wandered around the room, sizing up the crew members, and Delia felt a knot form in her stomach, fearing that things could escalate. It would have been the perfect time for her Pa to walk in.

Finally, Khaleel relaxed. “I’m just kidding, my good man! You should have seen your faces.” He shook his head with a smirk, and Delia felt a pulse of relief.

“I take the fact that you are all far away from here, given I do not know Aksern, ” Khaleel said. “You speak for your house, I can accept that. That said, others would not take it so kindly. My advice would be to let your brother lead when the captain is not here.” He turned towards Jonah. “You have good reactions, my friend, noticing my malice and readying yourself so fast.”

It wasn't that hard, Delia thought. The man was leaking hostility. Though she supposed it was impressive given Jonah couldn't hear. A fact Jonah reminded her of as he looked blankly towards Khaleel.

“You can speak, you know. I permit you.”

Delia noted the odd phrasing. Was it a hierarchical thing because Khaleel was a Yellow? What differentiated Yellows from the other colours? Assuming it was a rank, how many ranks were there?

The questions raced in her mind during the silence that stretched as Jonah and Khaleel stared at each other. Finally, Khaleel turned back to Jeremy. “Why does he not speak? Is he deaf?”

Jeremy nodded with a slight smile. “He is.”